Sleeping Beauty

Desmond’s POV

It was eight forty-seven in the evening when I finally noticed the light pouring out from beneath Cleopatra’s office door. I had already sent most of the workers home, leaving the building almost entirely silent.

I walked toward her office expecting to find her reviewing the next day’s schedule, but instead, I found her fast asleep. She was slouched behind her desk with her arms folded over a stack of financial reports, her laptop still open with a spreadsheet filling the screen, and her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

For several seconds, I simply stood in the doorway watching her. She looked entirely different while sleeping: younger, softer, and stripped of the sharp responses and guarded expressions she routinely wore around me. She looked like the woman from the photograph I had seen right before the wedding, the innocent woman who had walked into a church expecting to marry the man she loved, only to be dragged into my corporate war.

I stepped inside and walked quietly closer to the desk. Her breathing was slow and steady, one hand resting softly beneath her cheek, though a faint crease remained between her eyebrows. Even in sleep, she looked as though she were carrying too many problems.

Reaching out carefully, I slid her glasses off her face and set them beside her laptop. She shifted slightly in her sleep, causing me to freeze, but she didn’t wake.

Her dark hair had fallen across her cheek, and without thinking, I reached out and gently brushed it aside. My fingers barely grazed her warm skin before I caught myself and immediately withdrew my hand.

What was I doing? I had spent years training myself never to become emotionally dependent on anyone, yet this woman had somehow become the first person I thought about when I woke up, the first person I looked for at the office, and the person whose silence bothered me far more than anyone else's anger.

Walking over to the coat stand, I unhung my cashmere coat, walked back, and draped it carefully over her shoulders. She stirred instantly beneath the fabric.

"Desmond?" she murmured, sleepily.

"It’s me," I said softly.

She opened her eyes halfway, blinking against the light. "What time is it?"

"Almost one in the morning."

She rubbed her eyes, looking down at the scattered documents. "I fell asleep."

“Yes, you did."

She tried to sit up straight, shaking her head to clear it. "I wasn’t finished yet."

"You were exhausted."

"I still have work to do," she said.

"No, you don't," I countered firmly.

She frowned up at me. "You don’t get to tell me when I can work."

"Tonight I do."

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she said. "You’re unbelievable."

"So I’ve been told," I replied.

She looked down and finally realized what was wrapped around her. "Did you put your coat on me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I didn’t answer immediately, mostly because the real truth felt far too dangerous to admit aloud. I had put it on her because she looked cold, and because the sight of her sleeping had awakened an intense, protective desire inside me that I couldn't seem to control.

"Because you were cold," I offered simply.

She studied my face for a moment. "What are you still doing in the office by this time?"

I met her gaze and replied. "I had work."

She glanced past me toward my laptop sitting across the room. "You didn’t even open your laptop," she said and a faint smile appeared on her face. "You stayed here because of me."

"Don’t make any assumptions," I warned lightly.

"You are terrible at lying, Desmond."

A near-smile tugged at my own lips. She pushed herself up to her feet, but as she stood, the coat began slipping from her shoulders. I reached out quickly to catch it before it fell, and our hands brushed together once more. Neither of us pulled away.

Her eyes lifted to mine, and in an instant, the office seemed to fade away. There was no Walton Global, no ongoing investigation, no Chris, and no Victoria, just the two of us standing close in the quiet room.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she whispered.

"I don’t know."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I have right now."

She lowered her gaze, her voice barely audible. "I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

A quiet laugh escaped her. "That’s the first honest thing you’ve said tonight."

I looked over at the clock on the wall. "You should go home."

"Are you ordering me?"

"Yes."

"Then I won’t," she said, her eyes flashing with a touch of playfulness. She offered a small smile as she gathered her things. "Good night, Mr. Walton."

She walked past me toward the door, leaving me alone in the quiet office. I watched her disappear down the dimly lit hallway, realizing with sudden clarity that the wall I had built around myself was no longer intact. There was a crack in it, and Cleopatra Sander was standing on the other side. I just didn’t know whether she intended to walk through it, or whether I was going to pull her through myself.

My phone vibrated violently against the desk, shattering the moment. I picked it up to see an urgent message from cybersecurity: We found another encrypted transaction. The access originated from an executive-level account.

My expression hardened as the brief moment of peace vanished completely. Someone high up inside Walton Global was still actively moving against us. But now, I had something far more dangerous to protect than just a corporate reputation, I had someone I truly cared about, someone who could easily be used against me.

I stared down the empty hallway where Cleopatra had walked away. For the first time in my life, I understood what real fear felt like. It wasn’t about losing money or losing power; it was the terrifying thought of losing her.